Love Is Not a Science It's an Art
by aphytick
Summary: On one of his commutes to University, Jean Kirstein, Art student, bumps in to Marco Bott, English student. He starts to sketch him and over time, it becomes more than just artistic appreciation. Jean/Marco as the main pairing, background pairings will also feature. College AU, and a slow build relationship. Rating will go up later.
1. The Hand of Fate

**A/N - A few things. Firstly, I know college AUs have been done to death, but they're still really fun to do. Secondly, I am not normally a multichapter fic writer. I worry too much about rambling, and characterisation, and if what I'm writing is even INTERESTING, so I usually just stick to oneshots. Thirdly, I do not know how long this will be. It will be a slow build of a relationship, but in saying that, my version of slow build may not match up to other writer's. Fourthly (and lastly) there will be other characters, minor subplots, and background relationships thrown in to the mix. Appropriate tags will be added later.**

**I don't know if many will read this, but if you do, and you spot any errors in spelling or grammar, please let me know.**

* * *

Jean was the opposite of a morning person.

In fact, if he had to, he'd describe himself as more of a mid-afternoon person at the very earliest. Still, he had chosen this university for its prospects and the long commute was just an unfortunate part of the package.

He got up at 6am every morning, and left his single bedroom apartment on the outskirts of town at 6:45, making it to the station just shy of 7am. By this point, his zombie state began to ebb a little, but nothing woke up the system quite like the disgusting excuse for coffee that he got at the machine before he got on the train. It was black like tar – hell, from the way it tasted Jean suspected it_ was_ – but it did the job that fancy coffee didn't.

It wasn't all bad. The two and a half hour journey allowed him to put some time in to his sketches. Landscapes were his speciality, and he'd spend his time focusing out the window, picking out all the details he could and committing them to memory before putting them down on paper.

His professor had told him to lay off the landscapes for a while. Jean didn't have the best working relationship with the guy, but then again,_ none _of the students did. He was irritable at best, a downright nightmare on his worst days, and was endlessly critical of any work that he got presented with. Jean tried not to take it personally, but the guy was a real piece of work.

As was custom at the university, all the professors went by their first names. On their first day, he had "LEVI" in bold capitals on the whiteboard above his head, and told them all to call him that and nothing else.

"I catch any of you calling me _short stack_ or _Tinkerbell_, and you'll be out of this class with a paintbrush rammed up your ass, are we clear?"

A few nervous peals of laughter circled the room. They had all assumed he had been joking, but the scowl on his face told them otherwise.

He was insufferably strict, demanding only the best from the class.

"You're not high school kids any more. Finger painting and tonal studies won't get you anywhere."

Three people had dropped out within the first month, and Levi had made a comment about thinning out the herd. At the end of the day, though, he knew what he was talking about. He'd invited them all to a gallery showing, and even Jean had to admit the guy was good. Naturally talented, no doubt, but each piece showed the hard work that was poured in to it. Some were abstract pieces, but there was a rather interesting nude realism piece of a blonde man with a hard face.

"His boyfriend." A girl in his class had whispered to him. He looked over and saw her absently chewing at a ball of mozzarella from the cheese plate with a bored expression. She snorted haughtily. "He's huge. Imagine the sex."

Jean had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing. "I wonder who's on top." He whispered back, and she just shook her head in disbelief, her short ponytail flicking across her shoulders.

"Rather not picture it, to be honest. I can't see Thumbelina being anyone's bottom bitch, but he'd get crushed under that guy."

Almost instinctively Jean glanced over his shoulder to see if their professor was lurking anywhere, summoned by the pejorative used to describe him. He was over by a disturbing sculpture of a large, fleshless man and seemed unaware as he engaged in conversation with the rather animated artist. Jean made a face at the sculpture, wondering where in the world someone could come up with such a nightmarish concept, but the artist seemed enamoured with it, and even Levi gave it an appreciative nod.

The girl beside him elbowed him out of his stupor. "Relax, he didn't hear me."

Jean turned back, and snorted. "Damn, I was kind of hoping he'd send you home with that legendary paintbrush up your ass."

"Jerk." She laughed. "I'm Ymir."

"Yeah, I know." Jean extended a hand. "Jean."

"John?"

"_Jean_." Jean sighed.

"Jaaaa-" Ymir frowned. "Nah, not a chance. What's your last name."

"Kirstein."

"Then that's what I'm going to call you."

They talked a bit more, swapping quips about Levi and other professors before exchanging contact details and parting ways. She was brash, and rude, but Jean liked her, and after that they unofficially became friends.

She text him that morning on the train, something about forgetting to do last week's assignment and skipping class so she could throw together something that would get Levi off her back, but Jean barely got to read it before a particularly rough part of the track jolted the phone out of his hand and sent it skittering halfway down the train.

It hit the side of some guy's shoe, and Jean swore under his breath as he tucked his sketchbook under his arm and rose from his seat to get it. The guy looked down at his feet, and with mild confusion plucked the phone up from the floor. He turned his head looking for the offending item's owner, and smiled softly as he saw Jean stamping up to his side of the train.

"Is this yours?" He asked, and Jean took it from him with a grunt.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." He huffed, before sitting down on the seat across from him, not bothered to return to where he was sitting before. The guy looked a bit taken aback, and muttered a quiet "no problem" before turning back to the thick book in his hand.

Jean realised he had sounded rude, but the truth of it was he wasn't too great with strangers. He didn't have a filter, and almost always insulted someone unintentionally, so he found it better to keep his mouth shut. He briefly thought about apologising, but one look at the guy told Jean that he was absorbed in his book, and Jean figured the damage was done.

The more Jean looked at him, though, the more he felt the desire to open his sketchbook again. The guy had an interesting look about him, perfect for a portrait. His hair was parted in the middle, falling over his face in a way that would look dorky on anyone else, but gave his face an openness that was almost inviting. He had a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks and a strong jaw that Jean found himself tracing lightly on top the paper.

He knew it was weird, but Levi _had_ told him to take a break from landscapes. Besides, the guy would never know if Jean was careful, so why not?

He caught Jean's eye a few times, looking up as he turned the page of his novel with well-practiced fingers, and Jean ducked his head to the side and pretended to be focusing on the blurring brickwork behind him. He adjusted himself every time this happened, and gave Jean a small good natured smile before he went back to reading, and Jean found himself returning it after a while. He felt bad for making the guy move so much when he didn't _really_ have to, but still, it was nice of him.

The train began to slow as it approached a stop, and to Jean's dismay the guy tucked his book in to his bag and got off to leave. He raised a hand to wave to Jean, but thought better of it and gave a friendly nod instead before going towards the opening doors.

Two things were on Jean's mind – one, his sketch was no-where near finished. He could never show this to Levi, but too much effort had been put in to the little linework he had to scrap it. And two, he felt guilty for not apologising for his rude behaviour earlier. The guy was only being civil, and Jean, true to nature, had acted like a jerk.

He closed his sketchbook, and slipped the pen in to the rings at the side before crossing his arms across his chest, deciding to get a half hour nap before his stop.

His last thought before he drifted off was that he hoped he would see his mystery muse again – if only to finish the sketch.


	2. Cold Coffee

**A/N: I am so, so sorry to anyway who is reading this for the long wait. Things have been hectic recently, and honestly, this chapter isn't long enough to make up for that, but ANYWAY. Here it is, chapter 2 of LINAS. Some face-to-face interaction in this one. I will try my very best to get these out in a much quicker, more organised fashion, but I'm afraid I can't make any promises.**

**Please alert me of any mistakes...!**

* * *

A few days passed and though Jean checked each day as he got on the train, he didn't see the guy with the freckles again for a while. He tried not to let it bother him, but he hated leaving a sketch undone – he wondered if he could do it from memory alone, but he couldn't map the tiny marks across the guy's cheeks or get the expression of his face just right, and he gave up.

Ymir teased him relentlessly for it. She had a habit of grabbing his sketch book every once in a while and picking his work apart. It annoyed Jean mostly, but he also appreciated a critical eye coupled with some not _entirely_friendly criticism. On one particular day Levi was late, and she pulled the sketchbook right from Jean's hand without a word, carelessly leafing through pages until she found ones she hadn't seen.

"Who's this?" She asked.

"Huh?" Jean replied, eying the page she had thrust under his nose. "Oh, him. Dunno. He was on my train a while back, and I had some time to kill."

"Never seen you put this much effort in to a doodle." Ymir said. "Usually the faces you draw come out looking like half chewed potatoes, but this one isn't half bad."

"_Thanks._" Jean replied with an added eye roll. "I've worked my ass of just to be half good at this."

"Keep your toupee on princess, it was a compliment." Ymir snorted, and Jean scowled. "I'm saying you've put effort in to this. Shame you couldn't finish it."

"Yeah. He got off at a stop before I got anywhere near done. Haven't seen him since."

"Oh? Been looking, have you?"

"_No_." Jean balked. "Well, yeah, for the sketch. But I know what you're getting at. This isn't one of your daytime romance movies, Ymir."

"Daytime-the hell are you talking about, Kirstein?" Ymir demanded, narrowing her eyes the way she always did when she had been caught in the act -a defence mechanism that is intimidating until you get to know her.

"Oh please, I've been to your dorm. I've seen your Netflix queue." Jean snorted.

"That's – those are movies my roommate put on there! It's nothing to do with me." Ymir said, jutting her chin out. Jean laughed, mostly glad the attention was off him.

"Right." He nodded, pulling the pad back towards him. "Your _roommate._"

She kicked him and threw the rest of her uneaten breakfast muffin at his head before falling asleep on the table, telling Jean to wake her if Levi showed. He promised he would, made a mental note to do just the opposite, and returned to staring with no small amount of frustration at the unfinished curve of the guy's jaw on the paper before flipping over to a fresh page.

Another week or so passed, and Jean had almost forgotten him entirely. It was bitterly cold outside, and snowing heavily enough to slow public transport, but evidently not enough for Levi to give them a day off. His post on the student union website early that morning told them that if they were more than an hour late, they'd automatically have half the term points docked. Still, in this weather a small part of Jean was willing to make that sacrifice.

His hands were numb holding his sketch book. He didn't feel like putting it down to shove his hands in his pockets, caring more about it than his poor fingers, but he wished he had some gloves at least.

A number of people were staring hopelessly at the LED timetable above the station, a number of them with phones to their ears calling work or home. One such person sat a little to Jean's left, their phone in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. Jean stared at it wistfully, thinking that if nothing else, some coffee would do to warm his hands up.

"I'll be in a little late, so if you could just let Keith know that-hang on" the person was saying, before lowering their phone and holding the cup under Jean's nose. "Do you want some?"

"What?" Jean asked, bewildered, staring first at the cup and then up to person attached to it. He practically had to bite back a gasp as he was greeted with an eye full of freckles and a sheepish grin.

"Coffee. Do you want some? It's pretty cold out, and I won't finish all of it, so you're welcome to some." The guy said. "It's not poisoned, honest. Well, not by me at least. Can't say much for the cashier who served it to me, but hey, it's warm."

Jean could only stare at him. The guy's grin dropped just a fraction and he ducked his head in apology.

"Sorry." Was all he said, before he lifted his phone back to his ear to finish his call.

Jean could've kicked himself. For the second time, this guy had been nothing but nice to him, and Jean had been rude in return. It wasn't_intentional_, but he couldn't get his mouth to work. On one hand, what he wanted to say was "yeah, I'd love some coffee, by the way, what's your name?" but on the other, he was afraid that what would come out would be more along the lines of "yeah, I'd love some coffee, by the way, I've been thinking about your face for weeks." In the end, it seemed better to say nothing, but he looked so dejected that Jean felt his stomach flip with guilt.

"No, I'm sorry." He babbled. The guy turned to him, confused.

"Uh – it's alright if you don't want any, you don't have to apologise."

"No." _Ugh._"That's not – you don't remember me, do you? We met on the train a few weeks back. Well, I say _met._I dropped my phone, and you gave it back to me."

"Oh!" The guy said, brightening up. "The artist!"

Jean wanted to smile a little at that. "Yeah, I guess that's me. Anyway, I was a bit of a jerk that time, and I've just done it again, so I'm sorry."

The guy shook his head. "No, it's fine. I was worried in case you thought I was going to steal it, so I didn't think you were being a jerk. I'm Marco, by the way. The offer for coffee still stands, if you want."

Jean took the cup gratefully. "Jean."

"Jean." Marco repeated, and it was one of the rare times that someone got it right. "Are you a student?"

Jean nodded. "Art." He said, before realising how dumb it sounded. "As you probably guessed. You?"

"Yes, to being a student, but I study English. I can barely hold a paintbrush, never mind use one."

"Well I can barely string a sentence together, so you got me beat there."

They talked a little longer, finding out some things about each other to kill time before the delayed train arrived. They discovered that whilst they went to the same university, their classes were on different days. Marco made the whole commute to use the library facilities on some days, though, which explained their chance meetings.

"You know, that day on the train – this is going to sound ridiculous, but please don't laugh – for a few minutes I thought you were drawing _me._"

Jean choked on the coffee, opening his mouth to apologise or explain, but Marco cut him off.

"I realised then you were drawing out the window. I wouldn't make for a good picture anyway."

Jean chewed his lip. "I dunno. You've got a pretty interesting face."

Marco bumped him with his shoulder. "Oh, thanks!" He laughed. "It's the freckles, isn't it."

"No, I didn't mean-" Jean blurted, racking his mind for a recovery. "You know, I heard freckles are kisses from angels?" Jean found himself saying. He cringed as an afterthought, realising how much that sounded like a line. Damn it, he could have _used_ it as a line. Marco laughed again.

"Angels? I don't know about that."

The train began to pull in to the station, and they both stood. Without much warning, Marco reached forward and pulled Jean's coat tighter around him by the lapels. He nodded towards the cup still in Jean's hands and said "keep it. You need it more than I do" before stepping off the platform and in through the doors.

Jean blinked for a full ten seconds before he followed suit, almost forgetting in his haste to turn back and pick up the sketch book that started it all.


	3. Connie and Creamer

A/N:

**I AM SO SORRY. Things have been hectic and hellish on my end, but I won't ladle on the excuses because this really should not have taken so long to get out. Sorry, SORRY. Anyway, heeeeeeeeeeere's Connie...! And some plot progression, incredible.**

**I feel like I should have mentioned this at the start, but I know absolutely nothing about education systems outside of the UK. I feel like I'm making an attempt at aping an American one here, and failing miserably at it, because I do not have the first clue, so take any of that with a pinch of salt. Hell, take it with the whole shaker.**

**Anyway, here it is. Chapter 3 of LINAS, enjoy.**

* * *

Jean apologised no less than four times for being rude that day on the train, despite Marco's insistence that he _really_ didn't mind.

It was one thing to be a jerk to some stranger you'd never see again, but after that display of charity on that bitterly cold day, and his seemingly limitless forgiving nature, Jean found that he quite liked Marco's company; if they happened to catch the train at the same time, they'd sit next to one another and start up an amicable conversation that eased them through the long commute.

In those next few weeks Jean learnt more about Marco than he ever did about his friends from high school. Conversation flowed, it was natural and he enjoyed the days when he had more than his iPod to listen to.

Marco lived at home, which explained why he had to take the train to get to the university. It was just his mom and his two sisters.

"Going to university was a big step for me." He explained. "I didn't want to leave my mom on her own for so long, but I wanted something for myself too. I thought for a while that I was just being selfish, so I compromised."

Jean snorted. "That's not selfish. Hell, that's practically saintly. I got out of my house the first chance I got."

"Oh? So you don't live at home?"

"Nah." Jean said. "For a while I did actually live at the dorms with a friend of mine, but he dropped out in the first semester. I figured it'd be cheaper in the long run to just rent my own place, but anywhere remotely near campus was too expensive, so I got a small place in the outskirts of the Rose district."

Marco nodded. "I help my mom out with the rent, and even that stretches me a bit thin. I can't even imagine doing it on my own."

On the days Marco wasn't on the train, Jean drew. He had long since finished the initial sketch, but he found that he wasn't satisfied with just the one. Marco was so expressive; the creative side of Jean appreciated how good a subject he was. As for any other sides, well, Jean ignored them to the best of his ability.

Coffee meets became a regular thing too. There was a small shop down one of the side streets called Brauster's that opened early, and was cheap enough to be accommodating to a student, but not so cheap that they passed battery acid off as a hot cup of Joe.

Jean was surprised to see faces he recognised amongst the part-time staff that got in hours before class started. One of the till workers, a short stubble headed guy called Connie waved over at Jean enthusiastically the first time Marco had brought him to the shop.

"Yo!" He called over from behind the counter. Instead of lifting the hatch, he ducked under it before scurrying over to their table, fingers working on the strings of his apron.

"Hey, Connie." Jean called back. "It's been a while."

"Right? Seems like forever, dude, how've you been keeping? How's the doodles coming along? Hey, who's your friend?"

"Jesus, one at a time Connie." Jean laughed. He looked over and saw Marco grinning too, and caught his eye. He shrugged in the way of an apology, but Marco's smile only widened, deepening the dimples at the corners of his mouth. Jean committed the sight to memory - for artistic reasons, of course.

Connie punched him on the shoulder lightly. "Earth to Jean. You going to introduce me? Don't be rude, man."

Jean blinked, dumbly. Oh, _right._"Connie, Marco. Marco, Connie." Jean turned back to Marco. "I met Connie through my ex-roommate last year. Connie here does biomechanics."

"Correction, _did._" Connie cut in. "I wasn't feeling it. Dropped out, reapplying next year for sports management. Man, it really has been a while, hasn't it?"

"I don't get to see you much now that I don't hang around with Reiner." Jean mused. "How is he, by the way?"

Connie snickered. "Reiner? Reiner's shacked up, man. Met some guy at the gym a few months back, they've been practically glued together ever since. It's kinda sweet, but it makes a guy feel nauseous. Hey, what about you? You been seeing anyone these days?"

"Yeah right. With the way Levi works us? Like I'd have the time." Jean sighed.

"And here I thought you arts students did nothing but fingerpaint and slack off." Connie grinned. "Look, I gotta get back to work but listen. Reiner's having a party soon, some sort of assault course paintball deal. He'd be totally cool with you coming, so next time I see you I'll give you an invite alright? You too, Marco!"

"Should I invite Ymir?" Jean added, and Connie made a face.

"That's not funny, dude. She scares me. Best not."

Jean laughs, waving Connie off before turning back to Marco. "And _that_ was Connie."

Marco smiles. "Well, he seems friendly." Then, as an afterthought. "I've never been paintballing."

"You'd actually come?" Jean asked, mildly surprised. "I was thinking I was going to have to twist Connie's arm to get me out of it."

"Oh, well if you don't want to that's fine." Marco added hastily. Jean feels a pinch in his chest. He sips his coffee, and shakes his head.

"No, I'll go. I'll go if you go." He says. "It should be fun."

And_brutal_, he thinks to himself. He'd played paintball with Connie and Reiner before. The former is fast, hitting you with two shots before you get a chance to turn around, whereas Reiner barrels in with no restraint, pumping his gun hard as he crashes through the undergrowth.

Jean had never made it through a round alive.

"Hey, I have to go to the bathroom." He checked his watch absently. "Train leaves in fifteen, I'll meet you outside if you're done here."

Marco nodded, and waited until Jean disappears behind the door to reach for his own coffee which he'd neglected during the meeting with Connie.

He misjudged the distance however, and jolts the edge of the tale with his elbow. For a painful second, the paper cup teetered harmlessly on its edge, back and forth and around in a half moon curve before making up its mind and tipping over.

It's contents spills over the table, seeping in to napkins and trickling over the edge, hitting the floor and the pages of Jean's sketchbook that jutted out from his bag.

"Oh! No, no,_no_!" Marco cried. "It's going to soak right through." Even for the little he knew about Jean, he knew how much that sketchbook meant. It contained all his work, all his energy and passion and Marco didn't think he'd ever forgive himself if he ruined all of Jean's efforts in one clumsy mishap. Glancing over at the door, Marco made the decision to check for damage.

He pulled the book out of Jean's open bag and set it down on the chair, twisting behind him to grab some dry napkins. So far, all looked fine. Some of the pages were browned lightly at the corners, but with a bit of dabbing it was hardly noticeable. Marco flipped through each leaf just to be sure and about halfway through he landed on a detailed sketch of himself.

He almost doesn't notice, almost doesn't see the pencilled version of himself starring absently off in to some unknown distance, he's too preoccupied checking for stains, but the hair brings him back.

His hand pauses, damp napkins gripped between his two last fingers as his forefinger and thumb stills on the corner. His first thought is, bizarrely, a mental compliment of Jean's talent. Marco had never asked to see this book before, could tell from the way Jean curled his hands around it that it was something private, something personal, something that Jean saw as his and his alone. Marco never asked, but that didn't mean he didn't wonder.

Was he embarrassed? Did he think Marco would be embarrassed? If anything, Marco was flattered, and actually a little happy that Jean had decided to draw him. He smiled softly at his own face, turning the page away from Jean's secret.

But then he sees more. He sees his own face from countless angles, with countless expressions. Marco feels his throat stick as he turns through no less than five pages of purely him.

They are all beautiful. Not the subject matter, not in Marco's eyes, he would never be so self-absorbed to consider himself as such, but the detail. The attention placed in to each stroke. The softness of the skin peppered with minute, darker patches, and the strands of hair hanging in to the lidded eyes were all so _beautiful_.

Someone sets down a spoon on a saucer with more force than is needed. Marco remembers to breath.

He closes the book with a snap and sets it back into Jean's bag before Jean has a chance to catch him peeping in to his privacy. If Jean notices the faint scent of coffee, there will be nothing that Marco can do except act ignorant. He didn't want to lie, he wasn't accustomed to it, but there was a reason Jean had kept this private and whatever it was wasn't any of Marco's business.

Marco finished mopping up the table before heading out the door, waiting for Jean to come out and praying that he was a good enough liar that his face wouldn't give him away.


End file.
